


a certain solid fragrance risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body

by houxvertetbruyere



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, PWP, Rare Pairings, Threesome - M/M/M, Virgin Sacrifice, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houxvertetbruyere/pseuds/houxvertetbruyere
Summary: “Jarre is 16 already?” Jaskier asked, glass of wine in hand.Geralt hummed and went back to his stew, aroused by the heat of the man beside him, the solid press of his thigh along Geralt’s. When Jaskier turned his attention back to Geralt, eyes bright with mischief and lips stained red, Geralt only thought as far as getting the bard up against their bedroom wall, legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jarre/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 43





	a certain solid fragrance risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body

**Author's Note:**

> I took a LOT of liberty with Jarre here. In canon he's an awkward 16 year old boy training to be a scribe at the temple.
> 
> The night-blooming cereus is real but it's a cactus.
> 
> Not beta'd

_I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._   
_-Pablo Neruda_

Geralt enjoyed few places as much as the temple in Ellander. He made it a point to stop by at least once a year. 

This summer he was overdue. He deeply needed the rest and Jaskier could do with a dressing-down which Nenneke always happily delivered. It didn’t occur to him what it meant that they were here in late August; Geralt hadn’t been here for the summer Blossoming festival in years, maybe decades.

They were sharing a quiet meal, seated next to each other at the end of a long communal table in the refectory when Jaskier saw the boy. 

“Jarre is 16 already?” Jaskier asked, glass of wine in hand. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze to the boy entering the room with three girls his age.

Jarre had been sent to the temple as a child to study to be a scribe. Geralt had been thinking of him as a child until this moment. Jarre's face still held remnants of childhood- his cheeks and lips were still plush- but he was quite a bit taller than Geralt remembered. His shirt, pulled tight across his shoulders as he cut a slice of rye bread. His biceps showed muscle where Geralt had remembered the boy thin as a stick insect.

The green crown of vines atop his chestnut hair matched those on the girls seated by him, marked them as untouched and accepting partners for the Blossoming. Just the sight of the verdant green against the boy’s fair skin called Geralt’s mind back to ruddy cheeks, rhythmic chanting, a heady scent of incense and sweat.

Geralt hummed and went back to his stew, aroused by the heat of the man beside him, the solid press of his thigh along Geralt’s. When Jaskier turned his attention back to Geralt, eyes bright with mischief and lips stained red, Geralt only thought as far as getting the bard up against their bedroom wall, legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist.

It wasn’t until two days later, when they were soaking in the large copper tub in the washroom, that Jaskier brought the boy up again. 

“Geralt, darling, let me braid your hair,” Jaskier said, floating over to kneel beside him. Geralt leaned forward to give his friend room and sank into the sensation. Jaskier liked to massage oils into Geralt’s hair and often wove it into elaborate plaits afterward. Though he would never admit it, it was something Geralt adored. 

“We can’t have it getting in your eyes tonight, after all.” Jaskier said cheerfully and Geralt tensed. 

“What’s tonight?” He asked, suspicion building. He could feel the smug bastard’s grin behind him. 

“Why Geralt, didn’t I tell you?” He tied the end of the braid and draped himself over Geralt’s shoulders, hands skimming down Geralt’s chest. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against Geralt’s and practically purred into his ear. “Tonight we have the distinct pleasure of guiding young Jarre into his first Blossom.”

A shiver went down Geralt’s spine.

“You should have seen his face, Geralt. When I told him my request was for the both of us.” Jaskier’s hands travel up and down Geralt’s thighs, his knuckles brushing the rising hardness between them. Geralt swallowed.

“Both of us?” 

Jaskier bit his jaw and took Geralt’s cock in hand before he answered.

“Oh yes, darling. Both of us.”

-+-

By then, of course, he was too far gone to question the arrangement. He was absolutely certain Jaskier planned it that way.

-+-

Jaskier is standing utterly still beside Geralt. He’s taking the ceremony seriously, to Geralt’s surprise. The bard’s familiar salty scent of arousal is a bright comforting balm. Geralt’s grateful. His palms prickle with sweat already. 

Potent incense wafts from the temple windows and beeswax candles illuminate the periphery of the courtyard. There is a single tree in the middle, an ancient thing with twisted vines and dark green leaves. The blodyn lleuad tree only blooms for one night a year- always at the end of August. It’s large white flowers would be harvested before dawn and used to make the temple’s trademark scented oils. Heralding the blooms is a sort of... ceremony, Geralt supposes, to thank Melitele for the gift of their sweet fragrance. 

He’s surprised to find himself so affected by the sounds and scents. There is a building thrum of anticipation in the air. A charge is bouncing between him and Jaskier where their hands brush. His skin feels alight.

Mother Nenneke enters the ring of candlelight and begins to chant in Elder. Geralt, Jaskier, and three others he does not know (a man and two women) chant back in unison. 

From behind Nenneke there is a soft chime that rings out four times before the acolytes filter through the archway. One by one the three girls he had seen the other day walk softly into position before their chosen partners. They are each a lovely sight. Plump glowing youth in the moonlight. But Geralt isn’t here for them. 

Jarre is the last and when he enters the courtyard Geralt catches his breath. Jarre is barefoot, wearing only a soft emerald robe and his crown of vines. In the light of the candles his eyes are dark and glittering. When he looks up through his lashes he stares right at Geralt. Geralt’s arousal rockets.

Jaskier notices if the pleased hum next to him is any indication. Geralt’s lip twitches. Jaskier is truly evil in his cunning.

The courtyard is silent for a moment while everyone waits for Mother Nenneke’s instruction. Geralt breathes in the combined scents of incense and arousal, the slight metallic tang of anxiety. He hooks Jaskier’s pinky with his and the bard gives him a gentle squeeze. 

Mother Nenneke raises her hands to the eastern sky. The full moon is just visible above the low courtyard wall. 

“Under Melitele’s watchful gaze, go forth and blossom blodyn lleuad- my moon flowers!” At once the acolytes are set free. A buzz of noise fills the courtyard.

Jarre approaches them, feet quiet in the soft grass. Geralt itches to touch and it must show because Jaskier lets go of his pinky to stroke his lower back. 

“Patience, love,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt and then, louder, “Jarre, my dear boy you look absolutely enchanting.” 

Jarre ducks, having reached them. He looks like a walking wet dream to Geralt but Jaskier has always been better with words. Jaskier hands the boy the cup of herbed mead he’s been holding and Jarre takes a long pull, throat working, before offering it to Geralt.

He can’t help himself, he reaches for it with both hands and envelopes the boy’s fingers with his. “Thank you Jarre,” he says, letting his voice drop into a growl. He can be evil, too.

He drinks half of the bowl with one gulp, letting a little of the sticky sweet liquid spill down his chin and trickle down his neck. He can feel two sets of eyes burning into him. He passes the bowl back to Jaskier.

The bard finishes the drink off with no fanfare and drops the bowl to the ground. 

“Jarre, my darling,” Jaskier says, taking the boys hand, “May we kiss you?”

Jarre licks his lips and whispers, “Yes, please.”  
Geralt steps in close, threads his hand through Jarre’s hair and watches his best friend dip to take the boy apart. His sweet schoolboy kisses are a vision but the swipes of his tongue make Jarre’s pulse spike. 

“Think he likes your tongue, Jask,” Geralt murmurs. Jarre shivers.

Jaskier licks inside the boy’s mouth a few times, sucks on his plush lower lip until the boy groans. When Jaskier finally pulls away Jarre’s eyes have gone a bit hazy. 

“Oh Geralt. His mouth is the sweetest thing, I swear. Nectar from Melitele’s divine tete.” Jarre might be blushing. It’s hard to tell, his cheeks were already on fire from Jaskier’s attentions. “Have a taste, Geralt,” Jaskier encourages.

Geralt groans the first press of Jarre’s tongue to his. He has none of the restraint Jaskier showed. He’s been desperate to taste him for hours now. Jarre is sweet like Jaskier said but also warm and spiced. Geralt plunders his mouth for a deeper taste. He’s aware the boy is mewling the lithe arms that went around him are squeezing tight. He realizes too late that the hand he had in the boy’s hair is now a fist, pulling Jarre’s head back. He breaks off with a gasp and gentles his touch. 

“Oh my, let’s get us down on this lovely pallet of blankets, shall we?” Jaskier says in a strained voice. “We’re off at a sprint aren’t we.” 

Jarre just nods and lets Geralt lower him down onto his back.

Geralt doesn’t want to stop touching for a second. As soon Jarre is comfortable Geralt takes his mouth again. He’s aware of Jaskier settling between Jarre’s knees. The bard is stroking Jarre’s thighs up and down in a way Geralt knows means only one thing.

“Darling, enchanting boy,” Jaskier inquires silkily, “may I take off your robe?”  
  
Jarre whimpers into Geralt’s mouth and breaks away to pant, “Yeah, please Jaskier.” Geralt sucks kisses to the boy’s jaw, licks down his throat. He tastes like the blodyn lleuad tree blossoms and salty sweat pools on his collar bone when Geralt stops to lavish attention there.

Jaskier pushes Jarre’s robe off to either side of his body. Geralt slips it off either shoulder and then the boy is naked and flushed and gorgeous in front of them. Geralt can’t help but growl.

“Gods, baby boy I want to eat you up.” Jarre’s heart sped up at the tone.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, “you know I love it when you say such filthy things but don’t tease the boy. Now, Jarre, darling? I’d like to put my mouth on your lovely hard cock, is that alright?” 

Jarre nods emphatically but says, “You don’t have to keep asking Jaskier. I want it all and I trust you.” His eyes flick to Geralt. “Both of you.” 

Geralt sees a flash of Jaskier’s grin before he gets his mouth back on Jarre’s. His own cock is aching but the linen pants he’s wearing for the ceremony are loose. He tamps down on the urge to rut and focuses on kissing the sweet overwhelmed sounds out of Jarre’s mouth as Jaskier takes him to the edge.

Jaskier is a very skilled cocksucker. Geralt knows from experience but he also knows from watching other men get taken apart by his bard’s mouth. They've shared a third plenty of times before. Jaskier has an exibitionist streak wider than the Pontar river. So Geralt knows that untouched as he is and only 16, Jarre doesn’t stand a chance.

Geralt can feel when the boy is close and has to relinquish his mouth so the boy can gasp and pant. He strokes down the boy’s sides and latches onto a nipple with gentle tugging sucks. Jaskier has the boy’s slim prick swallowed whole and deft fingers rolling Jarre’s balls. The boy's chest is heaving, hands petting at Jaskier's hair like he doesn't know it's okay to grab.

"Go ahead and pull his hair, Jarre. It's okay, he likes it." Geralt murmurs in Jarre's ear. "Don't you, Jask?"

Jaskier hums around Jarre's cock and Jarre groan, twisting his fingers into Jaskier's hair and _tugging_.

Jaskier pulls off to hiss, "Yes, yes, just like that," before ducking down to mouth at the boy's balls.

Jarre whines and thrusts his hips up so Geralt wraps his fist around the boy's cock and gives him a few firm strokes. Jarre looks harried and so close to the edge already. He groans like it's a sweet relief when Jaskier takes him back in his mouth. 

Just as Geralt gets his mouth back on the boy's stiff nipple Jarre is coming. 

He grunts a surprised little “Oh!” as his body ripples and he comes down Jaskier’s throat. His eyes are wide and glistening. His lips are bitten and color sits high on his cheeks. His hitching chest sports one wet red nipple standing at attention. Geralt almost can’t look away. Almost. 

Between Jarre’s spread thighs, Jaskier is licking his lips and chuckling, dark and dirty. He knows Geralt wants a taste. Geralt lunges for a kiss. He gets the musky earthy tang of the boy’s spend in the first few licks. Then he just indulges in Jaskier’s hot talented mouth for a few more kisses. Gods be damned, he loves this man.

“Oh, look!” Jarre whispers reverently. The men pull away from each other, grinning, and look up to where Jarre’s pointing. The vine hanging over Jarre’s head has one giant white blossom- almost as large as Jarre’s head, with yellow spikes in a halo around the wide petals. It is striking the way it catches the moonlight and warm yellow candlelight. 

Jaskier and Geralt crawl up Jarre’s body and reach for the blossom. They pluck it together and lay it on the boy’s stomach. Geralt runs firm fingers over it, crushes a broad petal to release its sweet intoxicating fragrance. 

“The first blossom,” Jaskier murmurs. He kisses up Jarre’s belly, runs the tip of his nose over a soft yellow spike-shaped petal and then goes back to kissing up the boy’s chest. “And it smells so sweet, doesn’t it, my darlings?” He asks just before taking Jarre’s mouth in a filthy devouring kiss. 

Geralt hums and rubs fingers the soft petals for a moment longer. Jarre is getting hard again, just from Jaskier’s kisses. Geralt’s mind fills with images of opening Jarre up on his tongue, getting his fingers inside, making the boy cry with pleasure before sinking his cock inside.   
Jaskier reaches a hand inside his own linen pants and squeezes himself. Geralt licks his lips.

“And many more blossoms to come,” He murmurs. 

And then he gets to work.


End file.
